


Glitter

by Aimryax



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games), Call of Duty: Modern Warfare (2019)
Genre: Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Blood, Rescue Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 15:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21138947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aimryax/pseuds/Aimryax
Summary: glitter/ˈɡlɪtə/verbshine with a bright, shimmering reflected light.





	Glitter

**Author's Note:**

> As always thanks for @llanxeotis for the beta/proofread.

Loud orders and shouts varied in tones from strictness to fear. Weapons used by their hard exterior to break through the concrete and not take a life. Sweat ran down on the back of Farah’s exposed neck, the new haircut at least helping near the fire.

Her role was to hear and give names of the people who were in the building, how many; who were rescued and who were yet to be rescued, and give commands. They seemed to be finished with no casualties.

The sombre night had turned sour at a sudden airstrike, luckily in an isolated area but nonetheless, a building had been struck and they had rushed to rescue who were in it.

No casualties and no bloodshed, Farah could sight in relief.

_My daughter._

The tone stood out like no other, it felt somehow familiar; that last breath of a scream but it was loud and clear in the tone of high fear.

Didn’t even need to look at the mother, didn’t even need to think _twice_.

The beloved gun was flung in a practiced move quickly, set aside as Farah needed the minimum amount of mass for this. She sprinted inside through the jagged hole while hearing a deep familiar tone call out her name in confusion. Hadir needs to wait for a bit.

The screen of smoke that hit Farah was familiar, almost a replica of a painful memory—missing the loud noises of promised death from above. Improvised shoes hit extremely unreliable rubble, moving and sliding even if Farah barely grazed it, she was pushing towards the limits of borrowed time.

She was taught to make noises. Farah should hear them. Hear _her_.

And indeed; there was a weak noise, of just a fragile being. Underneath heavy rubble and by quick glance she knew it needed a saw, she can’t risk it with her bullets.

Improvise. Not letting the stress get to her just yet; Farah spotted a rod stuck in between, there it is...but with the temperature, it’s going to be hot, almost scalding, observation made for preparation and not hesitation. 

Akin to ripping a bandage, she took a strong hold of the rod and instantly the crooked texture of the barely stable rod forced a pained loud grunt out of Farah.

Upwards..._and downwards_. The heavy resistance caused her arms to shake at the weight of the rubble. Sweat went down profusely on her forehead from both inner and outer feelings, but the sound of the friction of rocks indicated that she was doing at least something.

It moved, but not enough. The soft whimpers made the physical pain almost nothing from all of this. Again.

The burns inside her nose and throat started but she inhaled sharply and pushed again, feeling her palms starting to bruise with the texture and rising heat.

She heard the violent friction of the rubble moving—clearly this time. Again.

Farah felt she was looking from someone’s perspective as the blood that started trailing from her hands felt so distant and almost non-existent; at the sight of a bruised arm finally blending in with the orange hue of the fire. She felt every nerve suddenly awaken.

It was risky and stupid but Farah knew it must be so insufferable being knocked down like this and helpless. Taking a huge chance by extending her arm to pull the much younger body, she stumbled backwards with the small body being dragged upwards, the rubble barely grazing her small feet.

The poor thing coughed and tried to scramble away from the harshness of the broken concrete, low mumbles for her mother were sounded. Farah almost instinctively took the child into her arms, she was once as light as that little girl.

The clear air had made Farah realise how confining it was back there; and how it must have been even worse for the girl. Violent coughs made the smaller frame shake against Farah’s chest and hug her even further for comfort.

Once surging out of the rubble of what used to be called a home, Hadir rushed to her in worry. The child was taken away from her to be assisted while she was sat down by Hadir.

Finally the rush of adrenaline came down and instantly she felt the sharpest of pain on so many parts of her; feeling almost burnt skin to form ugly marks that were certain to be come blisters later.

But it’s okay, because she was safe. _They were safe._  
  


* * *

  


Having a strong memory was not optional, but a necessity.

People, resources, guns...all of it was mandatory to recite more than your own name, Commander Karim knows that well.

The weight of the braid was insignificant to others. To her, it was a reminder of what she was like before, without the gun, without the role, without the burdens.

She was a leader, a protector; someone responsible of taking all those people back to safety when they are dragged into the horror and cruelty. Lives can never be the same, even if all was saved—and that was almost an impossibility at this point, losses of many aspects were carried out and at times, she felt she wasn’t simply sufficient enough. 

Seven thousand people were at her command...does the commander _even_ lead them safely?

Farah’s hands stopped gripping the knife handler as she detected footsteps behind her, not loud enough of a soldier’s nor an adult’s.

The calm atmosphere of the open post was not an invitation for a sudden disruption, the sombreness and coldness of the sun set; giving the sky a blueish hue in the middle of the pale desert. So she took no concern as she turned her head around to face the person.

The tiny torn dress and dirtied white socks with thrown away shoes of a small hope to become a ballerina, were different; instead stood there—what she could assume was around ten, the same girl she cradled against her chest.

Farah was surprised at herself for remembering the childish features on the grown girl; _Aya_ was her name, she had had difficulties with the smoke that entered her chest but she recovered, Farah often accompanied her mother the first awful days.

Farah smiled fondly at the girl, she had seen her but Aya had not seen Farah herself, only the hazy memories of a scared child and nothing more, she wondered at what brought her here.

The girl was extremely shy, her posture was small, head held down upon eye contact. Slowly, small footsteps advanced towards Farah, she simply sat there observing.

Aya held a small crown of flowers, plucked from the growing lands they had done probably, soft colours of yellow, pink and red were wrapped around the makeshift base.

Farah's hazel eyes widened slowly as that crown was placed upon her head wordlessly, it was so frail the wind could easily blow it away, especially with the hesitant hands.

Farah’s heart warmed to the gesture, whether she remembered or was told, she put a hand on the crown and brought it further down to have it stay still on her head.

At Farah’s warm smile, Aya’s shyness faded away and smiled back in fondness and big eyes that seemed..._idolising_, shinning with pure admiration.

But it was not the admiration that Farah looked for, but the hope in her eyes that radiated, a hope of living safely with all who she holds dear.

And Farah would always give it all for that simple glitter, something she always wished for herself, and maybe she would achieve it someday.


End file.
